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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29965794">the red swell of the sea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivacissimo/pseuds/vivacissimo'>vivacissimo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Based on: The Origin of Rubies, F/M, Magic, Running Away, rhaelya AU week 2021</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:33:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,821</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29965794</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivacissimo/pseuds/vivacissimo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>for the #rhaelyaAUweek prompt - <em>fairytales</em></p><p>A runaway princess, a rare ruby, and a witch's lair.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the red swell of the sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is a very loose rewriting of an old bengali fairytale i was told as a child :) if you google "the origin of rubies" you can find a version of it. the title is from tagore, a bengali poet, cause that tracks</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lyanna knew the day would come that her betrothal would be announced, a husband chosen for her by her father. <em>Never forget that I will whisk you away if you are not pleased,</em> Brandon had told her half a hundred times, lazy and loving, teasing and self-assured. </p><p>She knew the day would come. But she never expected it to come without Brandon by her side, Brandon cold and dead in a crypt at his young age, a boy who burned too bright to live long.</p><p><em>You will marry Robert Baratheon,</em> her father told her.</p><p><em>No I will not,</em> she replied, because it was what Brandon would have done on her behalf.</p>
<hr/><p>She thought Domeric might save her.</p><p>She thought he might love her.</p><p>
  <em>I do love you, Lyanna, but King Rickard is my liege.</em>
</p><p>He was Lyanna’s king and father both, but she was made of stronger stuff than Domeric was.</p><p>So be it. She would have to save herself. Ned caught her under the light of the full moon, on his patrol of the grounds that he always did before sleeping, her calculations of his movements fatally flawed.</p><p>“Does Benjen know?” he asked, hesitance and pain in his eyes.</p><p>“I would never abandon him,” she said, her face raised high and proud.</p><p>“But you would abandon me?”</p><p>“You did it first, when you brought Robert Baratheon into my home knowing father would expel me from Winterfell.”</p><p>He let her go. She never loved him more.</p>
<hr/><p><em>The Desert Wind</em> sailed for one of the Golden cities of Essos, and Lyanna knew nothing of her destination, but the ship left quickly and her father’s soldiers were not far behind her.</p><p>Ten golden coins and duties around the ship. That was all it cost to leave her life behind. Her coin purse considerably lighter, Lyanna stood on the bow of the ship as tears rolled down her face. She dared not look back, lest she jump from the ship and return wet and ragged to the arms of the father that loved her all wrong.</p>
<hr/><p>Stringing the sails was her favorite duty, her years of training with a bow and arrow making it feel familiar. Lyanna misses the Godswood and Benjen and Ned and even Father, but she has no time to think of it when she is heaving the fabric up the tall masts.</p><p>Fishing was the worst, hours of sitting giving way to uncertainty and remorse in her chest. The sailors of the ship were all kind but not much given to conversation, so she dutifully used her spear when it was needed, calling for assistance when the net was quite full and required pulling.</p><p>Sometimes she sang songs of her childhood, and taught the other sailors the words if they did not know them. </p><p>Singing, at least, they were pleased to do. In the grand expanse of the ocean, their mismatched scratchy voices filled the air as much as a grain of rice would fill a stomach.</p><p>It kept the loneliness at bay.</p>
<hr/><p>“Whirlpool!” the lookout screamed from his place high above them. They had been dodging whirlpools for what felt like days, and Lyanna pulled in the fishing net herself, barely full as it was. </p><p>Atop the scant fish flopping and wriggling within the net, was a single crab, lying prone on it’s back, smashing it’s pincers in anger and helplessness. Lyanna picked it up and threw it to sea, knowing full well that it would likely be caught in the nearby whirlpool and be crushed by the force of the water. </p><p>Such was life in the sea. Nonetheless, she could not resist showing the creature one small mercy.</p><p>Beneath where the crab had been, however, an unexpected glint caught Lyanna’s eye, and she reached out to grasp the hypnotic, inflamed, perfectly round object lying there on top of all the dying carp. It was smooth and hard like a pearl, of which she’d collected several during her time on the boat, but unlike the translucent milkiness of a clam's treasure, what sat in her palm was the hypnotizing color of blood. The stone seemed unfathomably magnificent as she raised it to her eye to look closer, captivating her within it’s impossible depth.</p><p>When she peers down into the water beneath her, she catches glimpses of red floating quickly by, a promise of more stones to be had if one would only dive for them.</p><p>“Girl, get over ‘ere!” the one-legged captain called her, and she drops the rock into her pocket as she runs to his side.</p><p>Jagged cliffs of dark basalt, harsh and ominous, rose in the distance.</p>
<hr/><p>When they arrive at their destination two moons after leaving White Harbor, Lyanna’s skin is tanned darker than she’s ever been before, her shoulder-length hair stained with sun and salt. Her hair had been thick and full all the way to her waist when she left, but a fellow traveler shore it for her when it became too cumbersome for her to keep any longer.</p><p>She cried that night in her bunk, her beautiful locks yet another part of her old life, sacrificed to the gods beneath the waves.</p>
<hr/><p>The crew all dispersed quickly, craving their homes and families, and Lyanna found herself alone in the great city with nothing but the bag she’d packed and a handful of trinkets she picked up from their various short stops. She would have stayed on <em>The Desert Wind</em> longer, but the grizzled captain told her it would not sail for another year, not after the great profit they’d made from the goods sold. </p><p>He gave her a larger cut of the coin that she’d been promised and wished her well. Lyanna faced the Golden Dragon City, nervously cracking her knuckles and making her way into its bowels.</p>
<hr/><p>The sailors had taught her enough of the Bastard Valyrian for her to purchase a proper pair of black-dyed breeches and a blue tunic the color of winter roses, to pay for a room and hot water to wash herself clean in for the first time in ages. She picked up more words when she roamed the streets, befriending a few street urchins with dirt caking their smiling faces.</p><p>Her vocabulary was richer, but her coin purse was nearly empty. Some scribes paid her to copy documents for reading and writing were valuable skills, but she was unfamiliar with the alphabet used in the city, and so not much work fell her way. The room at the inn was her biggest expense, along with the water-like soup and hard bread that filled her belly each night.</p><p>She had tried to go down to the harbor to fish with a small net in her possession, but there was a tax on fishing, and it was not worth the price. </p><p>She told her young friends that, the street savvy teenage boys and girls who were kind to her, always coming and going as they pleased. They laughed and made some suggestions, including nudging her to look at a brothel nearby.</p><p>Lyanna recoils at that. She supposes most lowborn girls would not have their maidenhead at her age, and would not be so affronted at the suggestion.</p><p>
  <em>If I was going to sell my maidenhead, I might as well have sold it to Robert Baratheon. It would have fetched a higher price.</em>
</p><p>She forcefully shook her head no. One of her companions shrugged.</p><p>He said a word in his language that Lyanna did not understand, and gave her a patient if pitying look at her incomprehension. He took her by the hand and led her into a nearby tavern, pointing at a table surrounded by men leaning over it. </p><p><em>Oh.</em> He meant gambling, Lyanna was relieved to see. She doesn’t know what the card deck of these people is like, and won’t waste her precious remaining coins learning, but there were other games that transcended the sea she’d crossed.</p><p>She fingers the red stone that still sits in her pockets, and finds the table for marbles.</p>
<hr/><p>She leaves that night with her pockets full, buying two bowls of soup for herself and the boy who’d guided her to the tables in celebration of her success.</p><p><em>Lyanna,</em> she tells him.</p><p><em>Petyr,</em> he replies, mouth full and grinning.</p>
<hr/><p>The red stone was lucky, or blessed, or something. It knocked the other marble out of the circle with ease if her opponent was lucky, or cracked them if they were unlucky.</p><p>She comes back night after night. She never loses.</p>
<hr/><p>At first, Lyanna had simply rolled her stone against whoever was wretched enough to be around. But word of the girl with the peerless marble spread quickly, and before long men and women and children were seeking her out, bringing their own specialized pieces with them to try against hers. Copper, glass, clay, steel… it did not matter. </p><p><em>Zokla</em>, they had come to call her, for the ring in the shape of the wolf that she always placed down as her wager, and Lyanna loved the sound of the name. With the moneys she won she paid for her room, but she also bought meals for all her young friends and their siblings, orphans and ragamuffins alike, even once buying entrance for twenty to one of the city baths when she’d had a particularly successful night at the tables.</p><p>They had little, and she could not help but show them some kindness, for all the kindness they showed her when she first found herself lost on the streets of their city. The kindness they showed her still. When one man had been infuriated by her humiliation of him, the hand he’d reached to slap her with was the hand they dragged him out with before it could graze her cheek.</p><p>Lyanna knew that her wins were variant, that she could not rely on the income from her evening activities, and so she spent her days learning the Valyrian alphabet and continuing her translation work. She started charging for the honor of playing against her, supplementing her income, and limited her time at the tables to a few hours of night, rather than until the sun rose.</p><p>When she returned to her room at the end of her successes, after spending most of the moneys she’d made on herself and charitable causes, she examined the red stone that had brought her so many blessings.</p><p>It still sparkled as it had the first time she laid eyes on it, shining and secretive, capturing the lights of the candles about her. She places it underneath her pillow carefully and prays for another day of life, of safety and happiness for the family she left behind.</p><p>Every night, it became more difficult to consciously bring their faces to mind. There were so new many people in the Golden City and in her heart, she was afraid of replacing Ben's nose with Petyr's, of warping her own memories by touching them too much. In her dreams, though, they’re all still as clear as the sparkling waters of the sea that separates them. She wakes every morning to the fading sound of Brandon's great laughter.</p>
<hr/><p>Lyanna scans the room for the usual characters when she enters that evening, waving at the barmaid Nayla and beckoning a bowl of broth to her when the girl has a moment. </p><p>All the people she is used to seeing are about, along with a few eyeing her hopefully - contenders for the evening. Lyanna grins until her teeth are bared, feeling predatory and wolfish as she turns the red stone over in her pocket, it’s familiar weight grounding her.</p><p>At a far table to the corner, there sit a few men huddled into themselves, laughing and flushed red with drink. They’re wearing the clothes of commoners, but they’re clearly armed from the way they sit, and clean enough to indicate higher status.</p><p>One of them sits cloaked and hooded, and Lyanna can’t see any part of them besides the long, elegant fingers that stroke a strong chin. </p><p>She beats the serious contenders first, and cleans up a few bawdy drunkards too easily parted from their money besides. </p><p>She feels a heavy gaze on her back, and discreetly looks behind her in between rounds. The armed men at the table are all still rejoicing amongst themselves, although without women perched on any of their knees, which was a bit strange considering the nature of the establishment.</p><p>The hooded figure is covered by coal black garments still. Nonetheless, Lyanna has the uneasy sense that his eyes lie upon her, and she swiftly returns to her games with her hackles somewhat raised.</p><p>The next time she looks back, the men are all gone. She’s relieved.</p>
<hr/><p>Unfortunately, they’re back the next night. Lyanna makes the signal to investigate further at one of her street friends, who blends back into the mass of people to do as she instructed. She plays her games, winning a round against the owner of the tavern himself, and playing one of the more popular whores for free just to entertain the crowd. She bends seductively over the table when she rolls, and Lyanna claims her prize in the form of a kiss.</p><p>The tavern patrons positively howl with laughter, and Lyanna blushes a bit, hopefully hidden by the sweat that already lines her brow. <em>I have never kissed a whore before.</em> Her stomach is strangely tight, although not necessary in a bad way.</p><p>How far she’s come from being a true princess. Perhaps she never was one.</p><p>Petyr returns to her side appearing alarmed, tugging at her arm insistently. “Darilaros,” he hisses into her ear.</p><p>She doesn’t understand that word, furrowing her brows. Petyr huffs impatiently. </p><p>“Rhaegar,” he tries again, which Lyanna doesn’t understand either. He makes an exasperated sound and drops her arm, melting away from her side.</p>
<hr/><p>“Rhaegar?” she tests questioningly, repeating the word Petyr had told her to the innkeeper, trying to find the meaning of it. The woman was mute, and therefore very good at explaining things to Lyanna without using a single word.</p><p>She gives Lyanna an appraising look, and fishes a golden dragon out of her apron, tapping it in front of Lyanna’s eyes.</p><p>Lyanna smiles sheepishly, handing over her rent for the month. The woman seems surprised, as if that was not what she was asking Lyanna for just now. She accepts it anyways, counting it all out and pinching Lyanna’s cheek affectionately when she finds an extra silver included for her alone. Lyanna finds oils in her bath that night where there never were before, and she splashes in it happily, this sweet luxury she never thought she’d have again.</p>
<hr/><p>The cloaked figure comes each night for three more days, and nothing of any note happens, so Lyanna decides he must be innocuous. He never speaks to anyone, just sits with a discreetly armed companion and drinks ale underneath his hood. </p><p>She has never seen his face, but she finds herself comfortable with his eyes on her back as she plays.</p>
<hr/><p>Lyanna steps foot into the tavern and finds it full of strangers, with the exception of those employed there. That makes her frown. She tries to find Nayla's eyes, but the girl is busy, seeming more frenzied than normal as she dashes back and forth.</p><p>Her instincts scream at her to leave, berate her for allowing the door to swing closed behind her. She has been too complacent, however - if she does not play, she does not have savings to feed anyone tonight. Coin from gambling left her as quickly as it came, something her father had always warned Brandon about, and her friends rely on her for sustenance…</p><p>She sits down at the oak table, which is startlingly empty save for her, and shuffles the tavern’s pieces beneath her, setting them up in a circle as she waits for an opponent to announce themselves. The heavy noise of a body taking the seat across from her breaks through the tense atmosphere, and she looks up.</p><p>The mysterious hooded man sits there, and everyone in the tavern has stood up. He snaps, and the majority of them exit, leaving only her and a handful of men with mysteriously bulky figures - it wasn’t a mystery at all, actually, what made them so bulky. <em>Armor. Swords.</em></p><p>She considers bolting from the door, thinking she could make it with the element of surprise, but a heavy gloved hands lands on her shoulders before she can attempt her mad escape. “Don’t try it,” a stern voice says in the language of Westeros, an unnecessary warning. She couldn’t rise if she wanted to, not with his grip on her.</p><p>The man across from her pulls away his hood, revealing a head of fine silver hair tied into a bun and indigo eyes set into a face made up of fine features. He almost looked like a statue, were it not for the kind set of his eyes.</p><p>“Zokla. Do you know who I am?” the man asks, speaking Lyanna’s language with ease and an accent of the city. He pronounced his words clearly, likely indicative of some high birth.</p><p>“If it is money you want, I have none,” she warns, ignoring his question.</p><p>“You do not, then,” he answers it for himself, the edges of his mouth quirking at her response. “My name is Rhaegar. I am prince to the Three Hundred-Year Crown, heir to King Aerys of the Golden Dragon Empire you stand in now.”</p><p><em>Rhaegar was his name,</em> Lyanna realizes, closing her eyes as her innkeeper’s actions suddenly make sense. She had no idea of the rulers of this city, too preoccupied with surviving each day, and she feels nearly foolish now.</p><p>“It is odd you say you have no money, for your luck has been magnificent these past nights. Do you pay off debts, or turn your winnings into portions?” His questions seem purposeful, and Lyanna shivers at the underlying threat in them. He notices, and gestures dismissively at the man standing behind her. The grip on her shoulder leaves her.</p><p>“I spend it on room and food.” That wasn’t a lie. She had the impression that she should not lie to him.</p><p>“You must live in a grand villa and eat mutton each night, then,” he replies, skeptical.</p><p>“I feed my friends as well. And the children in an orphanage nearby.”</p><p>Surprise flashes across his face, fading away as quickly as lightning in the sky. “How generous of you. It occurs to me I do not know your true name, Zokla.”</p><p>“Lyanna.”</p><p>“Lyanna,” he repeats. Her name sounds strangely like poetry on his tongue. “Lyanna, I have heard tales of your prowess at these tables. Some slip of a foreign girl with the luck only one blessed by Meraxes could command, some say. Others tell me you have the fangs of a wolf hidden within your mouth. All say you never lose. That gives a prince pause, you can imagine. If it is magic you command, or some other manner of assuring victory...”</p><p>“I don’t cheat,” Lyanna says, incensed. How dare he? She doesn’t even like to gamble, it is merely the only choice left to her!</p><p>He looks apologetic. “I make no accusations. But I would see this famous red ball of yours, if you would be so kind.” He holds out a hand, a great big hand, and Lyanna hesitates, worrying at her lip.</p><p>“I will give it back,” he assures her. She slumps as she places it in his palm, praying to the Old Gods so far away that he makes good on his word and does not steal her luck away. A prince should not lie, but then, a princess should not flee, and she had done that.</p><p>He inspects the stone methodically, eyes narrow as he turned it every direction, holding it up to the great torches on the wall and balancing the weight in his hand. He drops it in water, in wine, in vinegar, whispers some incantation against, rubs it against some sage he has in his cloak. Lyanna follows his every move, throat tight with worry. Finally, after perhaps half an hour full of dreadful silence, he takes his seat again, and places the stone in front of Lyanna once more. She breathes out audibly.</p><p>“I confess I have never seen such a piece before. Are they common in your home?”</p><p>She shakes her head no. </p><p>“No?” he asks, tilting his head curiously, “then where did you come across this thing.”</p><p>“I found it in the sea,” she tells him honestly. She’s done nothing wrong. He contemplates that.</p><p>“Where do you call home, Lyanna?” </p><p><em>Winterfell. Here.</em> “Nowhere, Prince.” </p><p>“Somewhere, I think. Somewhere you do not wish to say, because you fled, and there are still those who would see you returned. Is that not the way of it?” Lyanna’s mouth must open in shock, because he gives her a small smile. “You are highborn, that is clear from your speech and the excellent quality of your transcribing work. If your home was destroyed, you would not keep the location hidden as you do, so therefore, you must have left on your own volition. Correct?”</p><p>He must think himself so clever, Lyanna huffs within herself when he reveals his knowledge of her scribe work, and she is sure her displeasure is written on her face. He gives no indication of having noticed it. </p><p>“I ran away from a betrothal with a honorless, lustful man. I might have married him, but a story of a rape he committed came to me, and I could not abide that.” She has not told anyone that before. She hopes it is enough.</p><p>Prince Rhaegar only hums. His handsome face looks neutral, but purposely so, and if he was schooling himself into such an expression for her sake. Heat rises in her cheeks - she does not need his pity.</p><p>“Play a game with me, if you will,” he says suddenly, and Lyanna raises an eyebrow when he withdraws a metal marble polished to a sheen. That it is special is clear from the moment she lays eyes upon it, the way it seems as if it is vibrating when he holds it still, the six-ray star that gleams across the surface of it.</p><p>Lyanna knows she has no choice, but as always, she chooses to push her luck. “On what wager?” The guards around them laugh. What a prince wants, a prince gets, she knows, but he seems amused enough to play along.</p><p>A small coin purse lands, or more precisely, <em>thunks</em>, on her side of the table. “Gold. That is my wager.”</p><p>She picks up the purse and curls her hand around it. “Gold, for the winnings you deprived me of this evening, for my companions and I to eat well. But what will you wager me for the game?”</p><p>He actually laughs at that, lightly, but still. “I will grant you a prize that you do not know the value of. Now, the lady shoots first.” </p><p><em>The Princess, actually,</em> she thinks, back in her element as she breaks the circle.</p><p>Whatever his marble is made out of, it is impressive, she will give him that. He comes closer to beating her than nearly any of her challengers in her time here, and perhaps he would have if he was not watching her movements so intensely, clearly cataloging her play to see if anything untoward was happening. In the end, he loses, and stands up tall when the game is finished.</p><p>She looks up at him, standing for his station in a way that was ingrained in her, bowing her head but catching herself before she full-on curtsies. He touches his marble, before gently rolling it over to her side.</p><p>“Valyrian steel. Quite a rare material,” he tells her, “that is your reward. Thank you for your time, Lyanna. I wish you good fortune in your games to come.”</p>
<hr/><p>She sells the Prince's stone the next day, commanding an unbelievable price for it. </p><p>She purchases three entire cows and a dozen ducks from a butcher, and feeds what feels like every orphan, whore, and beggar in the city with the help of her urchin friends. They all dance around the streets, and Lyanna feels more homesick than ever.</p>
<hr/><p>Lyanna thought that would be the end of it. But a week later, Prince Rhaegar returns again. He is not hooded this time, and the people of the tavern rejoice to see him.</p><p>And again.</p><p>He returns three times. For some reason she cannot explain, Lyanna likes it when he comes.</p>
<hr/><p>Armed guards come to the scribe office where she is carefully replicating the notes on some sailor’s will, bursting open the door so hard the walls shake. They speak rapidly in Bastard Valyrian, so fast she can only just catch it.</p><p>“Where is the Zokla?” they demand, holding weapons to various people. Even if Lyanna wanted to give herself up, she doesn't have the chance - everyone looks at her immediately. <em>How do they know?</em> she wonders, because she hasn’t seen any of them at the tavern before. Word does seem to travel fast within these city walls. </p><p>“The Golden Dragon King Aerys summons you,” they tell her gruffly, yanking her to her feet and roughly dragging her out of the door.</p>
<hr/><p>King Aerys was as hideous as Prince Rhaegar was beautiful.</p><p>It is an easy comparison to make, because not a few minutes into her appearance before the King, the Prince had entered the room in a storm, normally calm face pulled tight with agitation.</p><p>Lyanna thought it might have been her father, that she was found and would be shipped off to marry Robert after all. Thankfully, that was not the reason for her arrest.</p><p>“I hear you command a magic stone, girl,” the King coos, shifty eyes glowing with excitement. Or perhaps it was madness. Either way, she sent the Prince a glare for reporting on her and causing all this commotion.</p><p>Rhaegar spoke before her. “Not magic, kepa. Merely a rare bauble found at sea.”</p><p>Aerys looks disdainfully upon his heir, still not allowing Lyanna off her knees. “A rare bauble? And you thought that would be of no interest to me, that I hear of this from one of my soldiers instead of my son?” <em>So it was not him who told.</em></p><p>“Our city is a port. There are many rare baubles about, my King.”</p><p>Aerys grumbles, seeming to accept that placating line.</p><p>“Hand it to me,” he commands, and Lyanna allows herself to shift her head up to see if he is addressing her from atop his exquisite golden throne. “Rise, girl!” he snaps, as if she was stupid to still be kneeling.</p><p>She gives Rhaegar a hesitant, questioning look, and he nods tightly at her. She withdraws the red stone from her coin purse where she keeps it during the day, handing it to a silent guard who took it to the King. Lyanna stares at the back of the guard’s head, trying to place where she’s seen him before.</p><p>When he turns, allowing her to recognize a glimpse of him beneath his helmet, she realizes he was one of the men at the tavern that first night, the night that feels so long ago, but was truly only a fortnight or so.</p><p>Aerys gasps in glee when the red stone is in his hand, descending from the throne with it in his hands and praising it’s beauty. The glint from the stone matches the glint in the King’s eyes, an uncomfortable thing that Lyanna has to look away from lest he notice her disgust.</p><p>The King removes his crown, twisting a pearl from it’s place and replacing it with Lyanna’s lucky marble. He restores it, and barks for a mirror to be brought to him. When it is, he gazes upon himself in wonder, appearing half in love with his own reflection.</p><p>Lyanna thinks joy makes him even more repulsive. A glance at Rhaegar’s steel jawline makes her wonder if he agrees.</p><p>“Another one,” Aerys declares imperiously, turning and fixing his eyes upon her. “Do you have another? I must have another.”</p><p>Lyanna is afraid to give an answer. “No, my King.”</p><p>“Of course not,” he actually rolls his eyes, something she has never seen a <em>King</em> do before, so common and rude was it, “for if you did you might actually be useful.”</p><p>He turns to his guard then, limbs remaining animated in his excitement. “You must put out a call, Ser Gerold, a call for a stone that is twin to the one I wear now! Any reward will be given, whatever the provider sees fit. I want another before this moon ends, to celebrate the anniversary of my coronation!”</p><p>Ser Gerold, the knight, bows deeply and says it will be done.</p><p>Later, Lyanna will wonder if she should not have kept her mouth shut. If she should have meekly bowed and returned to her scribework, her reign as the master of the marbles table duly over, a fair outcome considering her supremacy was a mere matter of chance discovery. But she can never resist pushing her luck.</p><p>“My King,” she calls, to the surprise of the man, who seems to have forgotten her presence. “My King, I do not have in my possession another, but I know where I could find others. Not just one twin, but many more besides, a boat worth of them.”</p><p>“Do you, girl?” King Aerys cackles, taking his seat once more.</p><p>“I do. All I require is a stocked boat and some crew, and I can seek it out quickly enough.”</p><p>“A boat and some crew, you say?” he responds, stroking his awful beard, “yes, that is reasonable. That is reasonable. We agree to this. Name your price, girl.”</p><p>Lyanna grins. “Ale, bread and soup, good bread and hearty soup, not merely broth. For every orphanage and poorhouse in your city each night. That, and meat once a fortnight.”</p><p>“Is that all?” the king asked impatiently, clearly thinking of nothing but his soon to be acquired treasure. Lyanna swallows nervously. Should she ask for more? Food was a great expense in the North, such an endeavor would have depleted their stores quickly, but perhaps it was not so in this city. </p><p>“A horse,” she adds quickly, “a fast palfrey, young and bold, and white like snow, for myself to claim when I return from my journey.” She missed riding. It was her life's purpose. </p><p>“Fine,” King Aerys agreed sharply, gesturing sharply for his various lickspittles to run about and fulfil her requests.</p><p>She bows her head in gratitude. “You, boy,” Aerys snaps, and she looks up, confused.</p><p>It was Prince Rhaegar who came to stand beside her, tall and silent.</p><p>“You go with her. Make sure she does not steal the stones for herself.”</p><p>“I will do as you command,” Rhaegar bows immediately, not meeting Lyanna’s searching gaze upon him.</p>
<hr/><p>The <em>Zokla Rina,</em> or the She-Wolf, set sail back towards the very place Lyanna had fled what felt like a lifetime ago.</p><p>She did not intend to go all the way back to the North, but even working her way in that direction fills her with trepidation.</p><p>The crew is small, made up of experienced sailors who spent all day working and all night drinking. With the exception of Prince Rhaegar, she had not spoken to anyone longer than was necessary. The men did not have much interest in her, nor she in them.</p><p>She watches the sunset every evening, eating her meals there alone in contemplation. She thinks of Winterfell, of Benjen’s smile when he beat her at swordplay for the first time, of Ned’s brow that twitched hilariously when he was trying to be upset with them but actually wished to laugh, of Brandon’s wicked jokes he would tell that would have her rolling on the floor. She thinks of father, the way his door was always open to her when she was a child and had a nightmare. When she had her moonblood for the first time, it was him she ran to, and him who comforted her, pouring a skin of hot water for her to hold to her stomach and soothing her gently.</p><p>She thinks of Domeric, of his shy kisses and caresses. Of Raven, her horse.</p><p>Rhaegar comes to her side so silently she jumps a bit in her seat when he arrives. Perhaps she was just lost in her thoughts, she realizes sheepishly, and moves to allow him space on the bench beside her.</p><p>It is a long time before either of them speak.</p><p>“Why did you name the price you did?” he finally asks, both of them soaking in the burnt oranges of the sky. </p><p>She shrugs. “Where I am from food can be scarce. I suppose I did not realize it was a ridiculous request.”</p><p>“I do not mean - I mean, why did you not ask for riches of some sort? You could have named any price.” She meets his eyes then, the kind eyes she noticed the first time she met him. His attention is rapt upon her, and she wishes she had a more interesting answer to give him.</p><p>“The thought did not cross my mind, honestly,” she admits. </p><p>He looks taken aback by that, narrowing his eyes at her as if attempting to unravel something. “And the horse?”</p><p>She smiles shyly, feeling even more embarrassed. “I enjoy riding, prince.”</p><p>They just gaze at each other for a moment, and a straggling ray of sunlight comes across Lyanna’s face, making her blink.</p><p>He laughs then, a rich and honest sound, one that almost seems as if it was torn from his throat.</p><p>She joins him, laughing at the absurdity of this all.</p><p>By the time the sun sets, they are not sitting so far apart.</p>
<hr/><p>He watches the sunset with her, from that day on. If the crew cares about either of their absences, they do an impressive job of hiding it.</p>
<hr/><p>“Did you ride horses in your home?” he pesters her again on this topic of home. He has been trying to get more information out of her for ages now about where it was she ran away from, and he refuses to give it up. Boat travel in good weather was deadly dull, after all.</p><p>“Yes,” she answers. Who did not ride horses in their homeland? It did nothing to identify her.</p><p>She must appear wistful, because he lets up for a moment, simply observing her.</p><p>“You miss it,” he states quietly. He sounds like he understands, although Lyanna does not know how he would.</p><p>“Of course,” she says simply.</p><p>“What do you miss the most, besides the people you once loved?” he asks gently, and Lyanna considers stonewalling him once more. But she was sick to her stomach with emotion these days, and the urge to vomit out the truth was as compelling as the urge to vomit her meals had been when she had not found her sea legs yet.</p><p>“Many things. The food, the weather, my horse,” she lists, purposely nondescript, “but I suppose what I miss most, what I would give anything to see once more…”</p><p>She pauses, wondering if her answer will seem pathetic to him. His eyes, his sad and kind eyes, compel her to speak.</p><p>“I miss the roses,” she admits, feeling a weight lift off her shoulder.</p><p>He is adorably confused. “Roses? There are roses in the Golden City. You may visit our public gardens, they are full of them, many varieties as are nowhere else in the world.”</p><p>She chuckles. “I have been there, prince. But the roses I’m speaking of are quite special. They are blue, less blue than dusk but more blue than water, and they bloom even in the bitterest cold. They are as beautiful as they are durable, and have long been my favorites, as they were my mother’s favorites before me.”</p><p>He thinks on that for a time, likely attempting to imagine the shade of blue she means. She closes her eyes and pictures them blooming in the greenhouse, perfect for clipping and placing in a vase in her room. She often picked them and left them at her mother Lyarra’s grave, as well.</p><p>“My mother’s favorite flowers are lilies,” he says, tentatively taking the olive branch she extended him. “They remind me of her, whenever I see them. As a boy, I would carry large bunches of them to her room whenever I could escape my lessons. She was often bedridden when I was young…”</p><p>He trails off. When the time comes to shake off the moment and depart from him, Lyanna finds it extraordinarily difficult to do so.</p>
<hr/><p>A mist falls over the ship as they approach the mountains Lyanna recalls seeing on her journey towards the Golden City of the Dragon, a gloomy, heavy blanket that made the sea as opaque as if it were covered in a film of spider webs. </p><p>“Whirlpool!” the lookout calls, and Lyanna nods. A ship cannot anchor so close to such a dangerous phenomenon, so they continue moving until they reach the base of the mountain range, the cliffs looming oppressively above them as if they were suspicious of these sailors, and only then do they finally drop the anchor, rowing the smaller boats to shore with meagre supplies. The sand on the beach is black, mixed with obsidian rocks to match the basalt ridge behind them. </p><p>“We sleep here, sail tomorrow,” one of the senior crew members announces. </p><p>They all agree, moving to set a fire to cook their dinner and laying out blankets on the harsh surface. Lyanna sleeps separated from the men, as would be expected, and Rhaegar sleeps the closest to her out of of the men. She falls into slumber amidst the silence of the discomfortingly still night.</p>
<hr/><p>She does not stay asleep, however.</p><p>The moon was but a crescent, and the night entirely dark, terrifying in its starless state. But still, there was light.</p><p>Lyanna removes the thin sheet from her body and rises in her sleeping tunic that touches her knees, searching for the source, and finally landing upon what must have been a cave further up the beach. She fastens her boots and makes her way there, feeling transfixed, her body moving of it’s own volition. She is not worried, though. She feels peaceful.</p><p>Before she reaches the mouth, a hand softly grabs her arm.</p><p>“Lyanna,” the prince says, and she knew it was him before he spoke, although she cannot see his face. She knew he would come. That was why she was not scared.</p><p>“Rhaegar,” she whispers back, foregoing his title. Somehow, it felt unnecessary.</p><p>His hand intertwines with hers, something they have never done but it feels natural in the moment, and they breach the cave together, the yearning emanating from within calling them both forth.</p><p>A cave should become darker as one goes, even more so considering there was no light to begin with, but the light increases instead, illuminating the thin stream that flows through the center of the thin passageway, the one her and Rhaegar walk on either side of, and the red red shine of the red red stones that meander their way down the water. This must be their home, Lyanna thinks, as they only became more plentiful as the two made their way closer to the source of the light.</p><p>In the distance, the sound of a woman crying could be heard.</p><p>They approach silently, walking for what feels like hours but surely was not, for their feet did not tire. When they came to the edge of the cave after which they could travel no farther, the brightness was blinding, and Lyanna had to shield her eyes to adjust.</p><p>The woman crying was dressed in fine silks, her skin an unnatural magenta, gold bangles shimmering and clanking against one another as she shook with tears. And falling from her eyes were not tears as Lyanna had ever spilled, but red stones, brilliant, sorrowful stones that tumble down beneath her into the stream.</p><p>The woman is bound in golden chains, and a golden sword hangs above her, swaying suspended from the ceiling even without any breeze, lying at her collarbone and grazing it. When the woman looks up, she fixes the two of them in her sights, their feet as heavy as lead.</p><p>Her tears stop and she appraises them, an uncomfortably piercing gaze upon them. Upon Lyanna most.

</p><p>“I knew you would come, willful wolf Princess Lyanna of House Stark. Long ago, I saw you in my fires. Forgive me, I do not recognize your companion.”</p><p>
  <em>How did she know my name?</em>
</p><p>“Priestess, I am Prince Rhaegar, heir to the Three Hundred-Year Golden Dragon Dynasty,” Rhaegar breathes, questioning and wonder in his voice as he hears Lyanna’s titles.</p><p>“The Golden Dragon Dynasty,” the woman laughs, the sound so beautiful like a dozen tiny bells. “My, I have certainly been trapped here long. Won’t you free me? My little arms ache in these chains.”</p><p>Rhaegar rests his hand on the hilt of his sword.</p><p>The fog around Lyanna’s mind begins to lift. “Why are you trapped here?”</p><p>She laughs again, that entrancing noise. “An age ago, men feared me and named me a witch for serving the Lord of Light. My Lord preserved me, and I let my rubies fall, knowing one day some sailor would find these treasures and come to me. I did not know it would be you, although I knew I would come across you.”</p><p><em>Rubies,</em> they were called. Lyanna picks one up from the stream and admires it, as entranced as she was the first time. </p><p>“Take them,” the priestess urges, “for I can make as many as I like.”</p><p>“How do we know you tell the truth?” Rhaegar softly asks.</p><p>She hums. “What language do you hear me in, golden prince?”</p><p>“The language of my people. The language of my ancestors,” he answers confidently. The same question is posed to Lyanna.</p><p>“The language of the people I left behind. The language of the Northern Kingdom.”</p><p>“And yet I know the name of neither, much less do I speak them. My Lord makes it so we understand one another. That is one of the many gifts upon me, a faithful follower.”</p><p>“Why did your lord not free you then, if he is so powerful?”</p><p>“Those the lord loves are tested. My faith does not waver.”</p><p>Rhaegar slices through her chains methodically, helping her to stand and pulling the golden sword down from its place above them. It is a beautiful thing of artistry, and Lyanna holds it in her hands. The weight is not too light, not too heavy. She could likely wield this thing, but when she closes her palm around the hilt the sword seems to reject her, making itself uncomfortable to her touch. She wraps it in her cloak instead, standing only in her night tunic and boots.</p><p>Rhaegar fashions a fire from the sharp basalt rocks and various pieces of driftwood around them as the priestess tells her tale, and the woman looks upon the flame while weeping, rubies piling up within the space where her bare legs are crossed before her.</p><p>“Your son will wield the sword,” the Red Priestess tells Lyanna, who startles at the fortune told. <em>A son? She would have a son?</em></p><p>“And your son will bring the dawn,” she tells Rhaegar, peering into the flames as if there was some confusion between those two things.</p><p>The priestess tells them the night is long and full of terrors, but after some time has passed, a faint glow begins to come from the entrance to the cave, and Lyanna knows that the sun is taking it’s place in the sky, and that they should return to their companions. The Red Priestess appears far away, although she looms protectively over the fire.</p><p>“Quickly,” she groans, “for I must make haste and worship my Lord. Each of you may request one boon of me, a payment for my freedom. The rubies are yours by right of discovery, but you may have one other as well. A simple thing, for I am still weak. Think it, do not say it.”</p><p>Lyanna exchanges a look with Rhaegar, who has his purple eyes set on her as well. He closes them, imagining whatever he desires. She does the same.</p><p><em>If I am to have a son, give me a husband I desire, not one forced upon me.</em> Is that too large a request? She hopes not.</p><p>Rhaegar opens his eyes at the same moment she does, and the priestess laughs from some mystery joke.</p><p>“You both ask of me what is already within your possession. Can you not feel it, the destiny that flows between? Begone from me!”</p><p>They scramble out of the cave, the walk a mere few moments in comparison to the ages it took on their way in. They pick up scattered rubies on their way, filling their pockets and cloaks full of them, meeting their companions who are only just rising from sleep, despite the sun being quite totally in the sky. Sailors do not usually sleep so late, Lyanna thinks wondrously.</p><p>The sail out once more, the whirlpool vanished, and lower nets to fill their cargo hold with precious jewels, throwing away the sandbags that they had used to mimic the excess weight before. </p><p>A boatful of rubies, they promised. A boatful they will provide.</p>
<hr/><p>Lyanna casts her eyes back towards the mountains as they retrieve the anchor from below them. Despite the sun bathing her surroundings, the ridges are still dark and stony, greedily hoarding the light.</p>
<hr/><p>Lyanna lounges lazily on the deck, her drying hair spread out beneath her, absorbing the gentle rays of the sun as the boat rocks idly on the windless day. Far in the distance, the first hints of the Golden City could be seen, and the crew was merry to be so close to shore. Above them, seagulls squawked and swooped, their magnificent wings circling around the masts of the boat.</p><p>Rhaegar sits beside her wearing the rough spun tunic of a simple seafarer, returning her smiles when she throws one his way every so often. She does it now, the corners of her eyes closing from the broadness of her grin, and he reaches into his pocket to bring out some object she cannot see, not until his gentle hand brushes her hair and places the token behind her ear.</p><p><em>How,</em> Lyanna gasps when she touches the feathery petals.</p><p><em>I wished for it,</em> he tells her softly, his lips brushing against hers. <em>I wished for a winter rose to call my own.</em></p>
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